"Here are a couple of letters for you," went on the millionaire, handing the missives to his son. One proved to be a note from Guy Fletcher. He had heard what had occurred regarding the dog, for Mr. Hamilton told several friends of his son's telegram, and Guy hastened to assure Dick that he had no idea of Simon's scheme.
"He told me he was only going to play a joke on you," wrote Guy, in the note which was delivered by a messenger. "He took the leash from your pocket the night of the party, and said he was going to hide Grit and make you believe he was stolen. I hope you don't believe I'd have anything to do with Simon if I thought he intended to really steal your dog. He has gone out West, I hear, somewhere in the gold mine region. My father has forbidden me to ever speak to Simon again."
"I guess you'll not get a chance right away," murmured Dick.
The whole thing was plain to him now. Simon wanted money, and thought he could make it by getting the man and youth to steal Grit, and then making Dick put the two hundred dollars under the stone. Everything had gone well up to a certain point. The dog had been taken away, carried in the wagon to Leonardville, and thither Simon had gone to make the final arrangements. The unexpected appearance of Dick had spoiled the scheme. Simon had hurried to the barn to warn his confederates, but at that instant Grit, excited by a beating he was getting, had broken loose.
"No," mused Dick, "I don't believe Simon will show up around here for some time."
"Who is the other letter from?" asked Mr. Hamilton.
"I don't know. I'll open it."
Dick rapidly scanned the contents.
"Uncle Ezra Larabee is coming to pay us a visit," he announced. "He'll be here to-morrow."
"Uncle Ezra, eh?" repeated Mr. Hamilton. "I suppose he wants to see how you are getting on—with your investments."